


Ex Profunde In Infernum

by viciousmaukery



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/F, Friendship, M/M, Necromancy, Promises, Rituals, Romance, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:49:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24919363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viciousmaukery/pseuds/viciousmaukery
Summary: ‘It’s... too late…’ Yusufa muttered, cringing with every shuddering breath, ‘I’m, hah… I’m gonna die... Prim.’‘Then I’ll find a way to bring you back. I swear it, Yusufa.’It had been a year since that horrid day in the Sunshade desert but, with everything that had happened since, it felt like a lifetime. Primrose had met the seven that she now called her closest friends, avenged her father, killed the man who had orchestrated it all, and ended up saving the whole of Orsterra from a malevolent fallen god. But she had not yet been able to make good on her promise.
Relationships: Cyrus Albright & Primrose Azelhart, Cyrus Albright/Olberic Eisenberg, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Primrose Azelhart/Yusufa, Tressa Colzione/Noa Wyndham
Comments: 17
Kudos: 38
Collections: Octopath Femslash Week 2020





	1. Promissum

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative title: Putting the Romance in Necromancer
> 
> New chapters will be posted weekly!

The knife glinted for just a moment in the blazing desert sun before it was plunged into Yusufa’s gut. 

‘Yusufa!’ Primrose screamed from down below. Helgenish pushed her unceremoniously off the cliff he stood upon. She looked like a rag doll as she fell. Primrose darted forward, but she wasn’t fast enough to catch her before her limp body hit the ground with a low thump. 

‘Ngh..!’ Yusufa cried out upon impact. Primrose skidded to a stop beside her, grazing her knees on the coarse sand. She reached out to lift Yusufa slightly, supporting her shoulders with one arm and putting pressure on her wound with the other. Gods, but the blood kept spilling forth. 

‘P-Prim… I’ve never… heard you… shout so…’ Yusufa’s voice was weak; she could barely raise it louder than a whisper. Primrose felt the sting of tears begin to form in the corners of her eyes, a sensation she had all but forgotten until now.

‘What!? This is no time to…’ Primrose tore off a strip of fabric from her skirt and pressed it firmly against Yusufa’s stomach in a desperate attempt to quell the blood flow. Yusufa sobbed at the sudden spike of pain. Primrose cursed. There was too much blood. Yusufa placed her hand over Primrose’s, wincing slightly as it shifted on her wound.

‘Hey… Prim…?’ she asked, coughing between every fragmented word. ‘We’re… ...nds… aren’t we?’

‘... Wh-what?’ _Don’t waste your energy_ , she wanted to say, _please hold on for me. Please don’t let this be the end._ She couldn’t wrench the words from her throat.

‘I was… I was sold… to this place… as a child…’ Yusufa murmured. ‘Everyone was so cruel… so miserable… I thought I’d never… make any… friends… It was… lonely… Having… no one… But you… Prim… You were… different… Always… standing tall… proud… No matter… how hard… your days… Looking… at you… It gave me… strength…’

‘Yusufa…’ she whispered hoarsely. _Please. It isn’t over yet._

‘Tell me… Prim… Were we… Were we... friends?’ Blood welled up in Yusufa’s mouth now, sputtering out each time she spoke or coughed. 

‘Yes, Yusufa… You were… my friend,’ Primrose said, voice wavering only slightly. _You are my friend_. Her voice had settled and was now too calm, too even. Despite the racing thoughts of despair in her head, she was frozen by the facade she had cultivated for so long under Helgenish’s diseased thumb. 

‘I’ll find a way to save you.’ She meant what she said, but no one would ever have been able to tell. No one was ever able to tell what Primrose was thinking, which was just the way she liked it.

The dying woman she held in her arms was the only exception to that rule. The woman, whose eyes were scrunched up from the pain, tears freely flowing across her cheeks, into her hair and the hot sand below. Yusufa had always worn her emotions plainly on her face and now was no exception. Was that a normal thing to envy? Somehow, though, Yusufa always knew what Primrose was feeling beneath her stone face. It was as if she could read her mind, a talent that had annoyed Primrose at first. The thought was almost funny now. As if Yusufa, in all her naïve kindness, would ever use what she knew to hurt her. How could she have ever disliked a woman as sweet as her? 

‘It’s... too late…’ Yusufa muttered, cringing with every shuddering breath, ‘I’m, hah… I’m gonna die... Prim.’ 

‘Then I’ll find a way to bring you back. I swear it, Yusufa.’ She squeezed Yusufa’s hand, already cold and clammy, and Yusufa looked her in the eyes for what would be the last time, a ghost of a smile showing through her pained expression. 

Yusufa’s body crumpled in her arms, becoming nothing but dead weight and what little warm blood was left in her veins. As gently and reverently as if she were made of crystal, Primrose lowered her back onto the sand. 

‘Is it finally over?’ came the grating jeer of her former master, ‘I must say, at least her last performance had some life.’

Primrose heard nothing past that point. Her mind was entirely clouded with rage. She preserved her composure just long enough to wipe off the coagulating crimson from her hands; under no circumstances would Yusufa’s blood be befouled by mixing it with that of the beast who had murdered her. She closed Yusufa’s eyelids before raising herself back to her feet. Dark magic burst forth and billowed around her form menacingly. Helgenish had taken his last breath. 

*

It had been a year since that horrid day in the Sunshade desert but, with everything that had happened since, it felt like a lifetime. Primrose had met the seven that she now called her closest friends, avenged her father, killed the man who had orchestrated it all, and ended up saving the whole of Orsterra from a malevolent fallen god. But Primrose had not yet been able to make good on her promise. 

Her memories of Yusufa and her time at Sunshade tavern had always stayed fresh in her mind, but now that she had nothing else to focus on, that was all she ever thought about. Yusufa, the only one she could call a friend in that living hell. Yusufa, who had given her life for her and for nothing in return. Yusufa, who she failed to protect. How she could possibly go about bringing a person back from the dead, Primrose had no idea. But she knew she had to try, and now she had time to figure it out. 

There was no longer the weight of her desire for vengeance on her shoulders, nor the pressing urgency of stopping the end of the world. In light of this new sense of freedom, the eight travellers had gone their separate ways: H’aanit had been so pleased to be able to return to S’warkii, and Ophilia jumped at the opportunity to go with her and bring the light of the Flame to the small hunting village; Therion, having no real plans or direction after returning the Dragonstones to Ravus Manor, decided to keep travelling alongside Alfyn and maybe learn a thing or two about apothecary science along the way; Tressa became restless after being home for just a few days and also decided to keep travelling, though this time she did so with her newfound friend Noa, acting as her guide to show her the wonders of the world she had yearned to see for so long. 

Primrose had opted to live in Atlasdam for a while, hoping that somewhere within its vast libraries would lie the knowledge she desired. Incidentally, this was also where Cyrus had chosen to settle. After completing his ‘sabbatical’, as he called it, he wished to return to the university to continue his research on Hornburg. Naturally, he had asked Olberic to come with him to help piece back together the fragments of the ruined city’s history with his firsthand memories of it. Primrose found it amusing how he made such a mountainous thing of it; he had come to her wringing his hands over Olberic potentially declining his offer, worrying that it was far too early in their relationship for such questions. As it turned out, Olberic took no convincing. Primrose suspected he had planned on following Cyrus wherever he decided to go all along. 

They made their way there in ensemble, travelling the same roads they had used not so long ago on their epic journey. Only this time were they able to truly appreciate the beauty of the Flatlands, no longer driven forward by that relentless sense of urgency. Lush, green meadows stretched out over hills as far as the eye could see, split only by the road and several gigantic, lone trees. Atlasdam was just a speck in the horizon at this stage, so they decided to break for lunch. They stopped their horses by a passing river to let them drink and sat down on the soft, dry bank. 

“Cyrus, can I ask you something?” Primrose said, once Olberic had excused himself to feed the horses their share of the meal.

“But of course! What is it?” 

“That tome that caused all that trouble with that woman, Lucia... you still have it, don’t you?” she asked. “ _From the Far Reaches of Hell_ , wasn’t it?

“I do, but I shouldn’t say it too loudly or we might be accosted by bandits,” Cyrus replied.

“Ah, of course. But what does it contain that would make it so desirable?” 

Cyrus took a deep breath. “Well, you see, it is said to contain the secrets of life and death, among other unmentionable rituals. I couldn’t even begin to guess exactly what exactly that would include. All I know is that it holds the kind of knowledge that would tempt people like Lucia for the power it would offer them to be the sole curator of it. She had planned to use her research for evil, and with what is contained in that tome she could have certainly achieved it. I have yet to actually read its pages for myself, and truth be told I am a little afraid to. In the name of scholarship, however, I must! If I can decipher its contents, perhaps I can use it for the good of humankind… Oh, my apologies! I appear to be rambling...”

“You don’t need to apologise to me, Cyrus; it’s a very interesting subject.”

“You find it interesting, too?” Cyrus’ eyes widened, his passion for academia visibly ignited. 

Primrose chuckled at that, and replied, “Very much so. You plan to study it?”

“I do… It is a dangerous book, but I believe I can resist its corrupting allure. Upon understanding it, I hope it can be used for good, or at the very least as a source of historical knowledge.” he replied. “Ah, but you probably think me foolish for that.”

“On the contrary, I was actually hoping to ask a favour of you.” Primrose paused, considering how best to phrase her request. ”May I read it as well?”

Cyrus was silent for a moment, quite tense all of a sudden. Finally, he began to answer, “I… fear the contents of this tome may be dangerous if taken lightly. I understand your fascination with it, I really, truly do, but I worry that without prior understanding of the subject you may not be able to resist the temptation of its dark secrets. I am sorry, Primrose, but you must understand me.”

“I won’t lie; that stung a bit,” Primrose replied, her tone suddenly icy. “Cyrus, do you really think I would use what I learned from that book for evil?”

“Of course not! Only… I cannot be sure just how difficult it will be to resist until I study it for myself. I don’t want to put you in any unnecessary danger, that is all.” 

“I can look after myself, Cyrus. And isn’t coveting of the tome’s knowledge exactly what you’re worried about others doing? I hope I needn’t point out that you are doing just that.”

“But Primrose, I-”

“You’ve said it yourself: Knowledge should be shared with everyone who is willing to learn. Are you prepared to denounce your own philosophy?” She raised her voice slightly, as much as she could ever remember having done so, but promptly brought herself back under control. No matter how strongly she felt, she couldn’t give herself away, not anymore.

Cyrus let out a lengthy sigh and brought his hands up to rub at his temples. “Fine. You’ve beaten me with my own logic. You can read it when we get to Atlasdam, but on one condition.”

“What is it?”

“You must find the chapters you wish to read and allow me to examine them first, to ensure you won’t be put in any danger by reading them.” He paused, studying her face for a moment before asking, “Do you find these terms acceptable?”

Primrose’s expression softened. “I do. Thank you, Cyrus. I really do appreciate it.”

“Shall we set off again?” came Olberic’s voice as he walked back to where the two of them were sat. “The horses are well rested—actually, they seem quite eager to get moving.” 

“As am I, my love!” Cyrus replied, beaming at him. “In fact, I find myself itching to get back to my research more than ever, thanks to Primrose.”

Olberic smiled back, and offered him a hand to pull himself up. “Then let’s hurry to Atlasdam.” he said, and leaned down to plant a kiss on Cyrus’ lips. 

“Indeed,” Primrose added, smirking, “Perhaps then you two can get a room.”


	2. Investigationem

“Here it is.” Cyrus placed the book on the hardwood desk in front of them with a gentle thump. He had chosen the special collections room at the university’s library for them to study it, as it offered a quiet place away from prying eyes. The tome was thick, its dark leather spine probably holding together thousands of pages. Still, it showed very little wear for a book that was presumably written millennia ago. Primrose guessed it had a protection ward cast on it. 

“You’ve checked the tome for magic already, yes?” she asked, her voice slow with caution.

“Indeed. Just a harmless protection spell and an encoding spell, no more. The latter I removed, but it will still need translating from its original language. It should be an easy task for me, though it will take some time.”

Cyrus opened the book. He was careful with the binding, his fingers barely brushing each leaf as he navigated to the contents page. 

“Here it is,” he said. “Take a look at the list of chapters and tell me which ones you wish to read.”

Primrose studied the page. Though it was written in a foreign tongue, she could piece together the general meanings of each title, at least. After a minute, she spoke, “These three. Mortem, Anima, Anastasis.” She pointed out each one as she said them aloud, and Cyrus nodded. 

“How long will it take you to read and translate them?” she asked.

“It’s hard to say. A day or two… maybe longer?”

“Okay. Thank you, Cyrus. Please tell me as soon as you have them, no matter the hour.” 

“Of course. On my honour as a professor, I shall work tirelessly to complete my task as quickly as possible! Anything for my favourite student!” Cyrus put his hand on his chest as if swearing a royal oath, and Primrose laughed.

“Please do rest as much as you need, Cyrus,” she assured him. “I’m eager to read them, but don’t ruin yourself on my behalf.”

“You need not worry. Long hours are something I have become quite accustomed to and, if I may be frank, fond of,' he replied in earnest. 

Primrose looked at him for a moment and smiled as she shook her head. “You… worry me sometimes.”

*

“I must admit, I’m a little concerned about Cyrus,” Olberic confessed to Primrose as they ate breakfast together. Primrose was staying with the two of them for the time being in the spare room of Cyrus’ modest living quarters on the university campus. It was a small room, but tidy and, thankfully, free of the seemingly endless clutter of books and papers that piled up throughout the rest of the house. 

“Why do you say that?” she asked defensively. Olberic gave her a momentary questioning look.

“He’s been poring over that tome for almost a full two days now with no signs of letting up. He stayed in the library overnight, and I haven’t seen him yet this morning. You wouldn’t happen to know what it is he’s looking for, would you?” Perhaps she did feel a tad guilty.

“If you must know, he’s doing me a favour. There were some passages I needed translated and he offered to help,” she answered. “He wanted to repay me for those dance lessons I gave him a few months ago.” Not a complete lie, she supposed.

“Still, perhaps we should make him take a break,” Olberic suggested.

Primrose nodded. “Alright, what do you propose?”

“A night at the tavern. Actually, I’ve just heard from Tressa; She wrote that she and Noa will be passing through Atlasdam soon—arriving this afternoon, actually.”

“We should invite them, then. It would be nice to catch up again and see what they’ve been up to.” Primrose smiled at the thought. She really was starting to miss the others. Tressa, especially, left a rather large, cheerful hole in her heart when they had parted. 

"It's settled then. I'll go down to the inn and try to catch them when they arrive, and I'll see you tonight. 8 o'clock?" 

"I'll be there. If you need any help convincing Cyrus to join us, let me know and I'll happily drag him from the library," she joked, and took a sip from her mug of hot tea.

“Right, well. I’ve waited long enough; I’m going to bring Cyrus his breakfast and make sure he eats it.” Olberic got up from the table and collected his plate to take back to the kitchen.

“Good luck!” Primrose called after him sardonically.

*

Primrose was the first to arrive at the tavern. Perhaps that was because she felt so restless she had decided to walk down an entire hour early, but who’s to say. She sat at a table in the back corner of the room, staring at one of the large, intricate tapestries that adorned the walls. No space was left undecorated, which was always a blessing when you find yourself so bored that you notice that kind of thing. She snapped back to reality when she heard a familiar voice call her name.

“Primrose!” She was only given a few seconds to register it when she was nearly tackled off her chair by some kind of large projectile.

“Wha- Tressa?!” Looking up from where she had landed, arms wrapped around Primrose’s abdomen, was the spritely merchant with a wide, puckish grin plastered on her face. 

“Yup! And, presenting... for the first time out of Grandport… Noa!” She sprung back off of Primrose and gesticulated with both arms at the girl behind her. Noa was flushed a deep scarlet from the fuss, but nonetheless offered a smile and a modest wave to Primrose. 

Recovered from her brief shock, Primrose replied, “It’s so good to see the both of you. I trust you’ve kept out of trouble on your journey?”

“Barely,” Noa replied, laughing. “You know Tressa; she’s always got to have her nose in somebody else’s business.”

“Hey! It’s hardly someone else’s business when pirates are involved!” Tressa objected.

“Looks like you haven’t changed at all since I last saw you,” said Primrose. “Anyway, you two are the first to arrive, so take a seat. Cyrus and Olberic shouldn’t be too much longer, I hope.”

Tressa offered an arm out to Noa, who used it to hoist herself to her feet and walk the short distance to the table. It was then that Primrose noticed the contraption she had been sitting in: It looked like an ordinary chair, only with four wheels attached at the bottom.

“So that’s what you’ve been using to travel so far…” she mused aloud. Tressa sat down next to Noa at the table after bringing the wheelchair closer so it didn’t block the way. 

“Yeah! Isn’t it awesome?” Tressa replied with her usual enthusiasm. “Since it would’ve been pretty hard for Noa to travel on foot, we bought it from an inventor before we left Goldshore. It’s one of a kind, but she told us with any luck we’d be seeing them all over Orsterra before long!”

“Truth be told, I was sure I would have to turn Tressa down before we heard about the inventor’s work,” Noa added. “It was almost like fate that we found her when we did.”

“I’m so happy for you,” Primrose said. “Are you enjoying your travels so far?”

“I certainly am! Tressa has been such a wonderful tour guide.” Noa enthused, glancing across at the merchant with a warm smile. Maybe it was the lighting in the tavern but Primrose could have sworn she saw Tressa’s cheeks turn a little more rosy.

“It’s nothing!” Tressa replied. “It’s an honour to be the one to accompany you on your first trip away from home.”

Noa shook her head, still smiling. “How could I wish to be escorted by anyone else?”

At that moment, Primrose spotted two more familiar faces enter the tavern. Cyrus noticed them and waved; he looked surprisingly chipper for a man who had stayed up all night reading. He led Olberic over to their table, holding onto his forearm. 

“Tressa! How marvellous it is to see you!” he exclaimed.

“It’s been far too long,” Olberic added. Tressa stood up and opened her arms to the both of them, and Olberic pulled her and Cyrus into a tight hug.

“And Noa, how are you finding Atlasdam? I’ve heard much of your journey so far from Tressa; it’s good to hear you’ve been enjoying life on the road.” Olberic asked. He and Cyrus pulled out two chairs and sat with the rest of them. 

“It’s such a wonderful city! I’m so excited to see the university’s library for myself. We’re going there tomorrow, hopefully for the entire day! I’m afraid there will be far too much to admire there in such a short time.”

Cyrus’ face lit up at the mention of the library, and interjected, “How long are you planning on staying in Atlasdam for? I’m afraid I’m a little tied up at the moment but I’d be more than happy to offer you a complete tour later in the day! Or perhaps the day after?”

Noa gasped and gave way to a wide grin. “That would be amazing!" She reached beside her to grab Tressa's hands, lifting them up and squeezing them excitedly. "Don’t you agree, Tressa?”

“Yeah, for sure! We can stay for as long as you want, Noa,” she replied with just as much enthusiasm, a light blush appearing on her cheeks again.

“Since we’re all here now, shall I order us some drinks?” Primrose proposed.

“Ooh, yes! Mead, please!” said Tressa.

“Perhaps something not too strong for me, please,” Noa said.

“Sometimes I forget you two are old enough to drink…” Olberic said, amused. “Shall we order a jug of ale to share?”

“You’ve read my mind,” Cyrus agreed.

“Very well.” Primrose stood up and sauntered over to the bar, soon returning with the ale and glasses in hand. 

The five friends drank, talked, and laughed together until night turned to morning. Cyrus was, as it turned out, a complete lightweight. Before long, he was practically sitting on Olberic’s lap and laughing far too loudly at everything anybody said. Tressa didn’t fare much better, but Noa, thankfully, stopped drinking before she became too addled. Her earlier suspicions proved correct, as she noticed the two younger women move closer and closer together as the night progressed, brushing shoulders and holding hands, seemingly forgetting any pretence of hiding their feelings for one another. Sat between these four, Primrose was beginning to feel like the fifth wheel on a wagon. 

She walked Tressa and Noa back to the inn they were staying at and made sure they got up the stairs safely—a feat that was much more arduous than one would expect. No earlier than three o’clock in the morning did she finally make it back to her room and stumble into bed. Sleep crept up swiftly and took her. 

*

That girl had been staring at her all day. What was her angle? What did she hope to gain from her? Most of the girls at Helgenish’s tavern were competitive and sly, taking every chance they could to curry favour with their master and sabotaging whoever they needed to in the process. It shook Primrose that a girl so young could already be caught up with that cold-hearted culture. She couldn’t be more than fourteen years old, and yet there she was, studying Primrose’s every move. Though Primrose was not much older, at fifteen, she knew the girl had begun working here long before her. How long, she couldn’t guess—nor did she want to. 

In any case, she needed to put a stop to this spying if she wanted to attain any sort of respect here. As the dancers finished for the night and headed back to their dormitory, Primrose followed the girl who had been watching her. Careful to avoid anyone seeing her, she waited for an opening and then pulled the girl into an alleyway. She used her forearm to pin her to the brick wall and hissed, “Why were you staring at me?”

The girl yelped at the force of being pushed against the wall, a look of pure terror on her face. ‘I-I wasn’t! I swear!”

“Don’t try to deny it; I saw you!” Primrose growled, trying to sound as intimidating as possible.

“I’m sorry! I d-didn’t mean any harm! Y-you have to believe me!”

“Then why?” Primrose pushed her arm a little harder against the girl’s collarbone.

“I… I was just curious about you, that’s all. You’re new, but you dance like a trained professional. A-And you keep to yourself. Nobody knows anything about you and I’ve never even seen you fight with anyone. Y-you’re a complete enigma! I’m so sorry, please don’t hurt me!”

“Do you want to know why I don’t make trouble?” The girl was silent, so Primrose continued, “It’s because I don’t like to be seen. So you can imagine why someone like you nosing around my business would irritate me. Tell me why I should believe any of that pack of lies.”

“W-what?” the girl squeaked, eyes as wide as a desert vole’s.

“I know what you’re like. All of you. You’re trying to find something in me that you can exploit, aren’t you? Well I’d advise that you look elsewhere, because you’re not. Going. To find. Anything. Here.”

“N-no, I’d never do that!” She began to weep, tears building fast and rolling down her painted cheeks. Primrose relaxed her grip, startled.

“Wha- why are you still trying to deny it? I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I’m not- I don’t wanna be l-like them,” the girl said in between sobs. “Everyone h-here has been so cruel to me. I… I hoped you were different. Th-that maybe we could be f-friends.”

Primrose just stood and stared at her for a moment, unable to process what was happening. “You… you’re not lying.” The girl continued to cry. Primrose released her, and she slid to the ground, coming to a slump and hugging her knees to her chest. 

“What’s your name?” Primrose asked cautiously, kneeling down in front of her.

The girl wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and replied, “Yusufa.”

“I’m Primrose. I’m sorry I lashed out at you.”

“It’s okay… I understand why you did. So… can we be friends after all?”

Primrose hesitated for a moment, then answered, “... No. Sorry, but no. We can be friendly with each other, but we can’t be friends.”

“What do you mean?” Yusufa asked.

“I can’t trust anybody here, and neither should you. It’s better that way, believe me.”

Yusufa didn’t say anything; she just looked down at her feet glumly.

“We should get back to the dormitory. It’ll be another long day tomorrow, so we should rest while we can.” Primrose said, and got to her feet again. She offered a hand to Yusufa, who took it and pulled herself up. As they walked back together, Primrose found herself foolishly wondering if it would be so bad, really, to have somebody on her side.


	3. Fide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THIS CHAPTER'S LATE!! I just moved house and started a new job so uhhh yeah
> 
> On the plus side, it's like twice as long as the other chapters!
> 
> Next one will be posted by 05/08 NZ time :)

Primrose awoke the next day to a knock on her bedroom door. She could still vaguely feel the effects of drink from the night before, taking a moment more than usual to orient herself.

  


‘Come in,’ she called. It was Cyrus who pushed open the door and entered. Primrose sat up instantly, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

  


‘What is it? Have you translated the chapters?’ she asked, then glanced out the window. 'Hold a moment, what time is it?'

  


‘It’s just past midday; you slept in. I would have come to see you earlier if I had woken earlier myself. To answer your first question, yes; I’ve just finished translating them. We can go to the library as soon as you wish.’

  


‘Cyrus, thank you. Just allow me to dress; I won’t be long.’

  


‘I apologise for how long it’s taken me,’ Cyrus began. ‘I really should have been able t-’

  


‘No, stop that. There’s no need to apologise at all,’ Primrose interjected. She stood up from the bed, still in her nightclothes, and approached him. ‘If anything, I should say sorry for putting so much pressure on you in the first place. I am so grateful to you, Cyrus, truly. You’ve put yourself through sleepless nights on my behalf and done more than I could ever have expected of you.’

  


Cyrus smiled sheepishly at her. She placed her hand on his shoulder and gave it a friendly squeeze. 

  


‘That’s… quite all right. I hope you find the knowledge you’re seeking,’ he replied.

  


‘How are you feeling after last night?’ Primrose asked.

  


‘Oh, you know…’ Cyrus made a vague, lazy gesture with his hands. Primrose laughed.

  


‘I was worried you’d have lost your voice after how loudly you declared your love for Olberic, and not to mention that, um...  _ spirited _ ballad you sung.’

  


‘I- what?’ Cyrus flushed a deep red. ‘I didn’t _ sing _ , did I?!’

  


‘No, I’m just pulling your leg. But you were very loud. And clingy.’

  


‘Oh no… How am I ever to show my face to him again?’ Cyrus lamented.

  


‘You can think about that outside while I get dressed.’ Primrose opened the door for him and made an ushering gesture. 

  


In just a few minutes, she met him on the other side of her bedroom door. 

  


‘Shall we?’ Cyrus said. ‘I can get you up to speed on the general context of the chapters on the way to the library.’

  


‘That would be good, thank you.’

  


  


*

  


  


They had arrived at the library and made their way to the special collections room. After Cyrus had given her a (thankfully) brief introduction to the chapters, he left her alone to study them. The room was private, and lockable from the inside, which meant she could read uninterrupted for however long she wanted. It was located in the basement of the library and had no windows to speak of, so it was very easy to lose track of time. Primrose pored over the book for hours; precisely how many, though, she couldn’t say. 

  


As her eyelids were growing heavy and her mind was beginning to cloud, she came across a section that held the information she was looking for.  _ Exactly _ what she was looking for. As her eyes frantically scanned the words on the page before her, her heartbeat quickened. It was a ritual. One of dark, ancient magic, that would take time to study and prepare. One that could supposedly bring the dead back to life. She felt the string of tears forming in the corners of her eyes. At first, this whole endeavor had seemed like a distant dream. Now it was within reach but it still felt too good to be true. Primrose silently thanked whichever god had blessed her with this stroke of luck. 

  


Before this breakthrough, she had been considering turning in for the night, but now the only thing on her mind was deciphering this spell. At some point, she fell asleep where she sat. She stayed up reading the ritual until her vision blurred so much that she could no longer see the words on the page, and the rest is history. 

  


  


*

  


  


It was her third year under Helgenish’s despotic reign, and Primrose now considered herself to be an expert at playing his game. She knew how to smile; how to ask for favours; how to blush at his disgusting compliments; how to strategically pass on the blame for her own slip ups. It was soul-crushing work, but it was where she needed to be. She had to have him wrapped around her finger just to make it here for this long. She couldn’t afford to be kind to the other dancers; one sign of weakness would be exploited by those who knew their craft as well as she did.

  


Yusufa was a liability. Primrose knew that. But somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to turn her away. Despite Primrose’s insistence when they first met that they shouldn’t become friends, Yusufa had slowly but surely begun to treat her like one. She sat with her at meal times, gave her the occasional (not disgusting) compliment on her dancing, one time even going so far as to lend Primrose a sandal when the strap broke on her own. That day, Primrose had berated herself for being so careless. She should have had a spare—and she usually did—but this time she had left it too late to buy a replacement for the last one that had snapped. If it weren’t for Yusufa, she would have had to dance barefoot, risking both injury and, if Helgenish had noticed it, punishment. 

  


It was from that moment that Primrose began to let herself get closer to Yusufa. A foolish decision, really, but she found it impossible to deny. Her mission for vengeance was still at the front of her mind, but now there was a small, dark corner in the back of it where Yusufa resided. 

  


Tonight, Primrose had performed her most ambitious routine yet. She pulled it off perfectly, not a step out of place, and collected far more than her usual amount of tips. Helgenish was so pleased as he took his cut from her. He planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek and groped her like a prize-winning pig, getting so close that she nearly retched at the smell of booze and sweat emanating from him. She would shower later. 

  


As the first shift of the night, she returned for her break as the other dancers were eating supper. She collected her plate from the old woman who took care of their meals. One of the more demoralising aspects of working at the tavern was that you were only allowed to eat what you were given, and that amount was subject to change based on your performance and, oftentimes, Helgenish’s personal opinion of you. Primrose’s helping was sizeable tonight, at least. 

  


She scanned her gaze across the room until she found the girl she was looking for. She allowed herself a small smile and raised her hand to catch her attention before noticing her face. Yusufa was sitting in the corner of the room—alone as usual, but that wasn’t the problem. She stared down at the floor, taking no notice of Primrose at all, and upon closer inspection Primrose could see that her cheeks were wet with tears. 

  


Primrose strode over to her and knelt down to her eye level. 

  


‘Yusufa, are you alright?’ she whispered, careful not to alert anyone else to the situation.

  


Yusufa quickly lifted her head, eyes as wide as if she had just been caught stealing leaves from Helgenish’s vault, not having noticed Primrose until she spoke. She wiped the wetness from her eyes and face and attempted to put on a smile. 

  


‘Yep!’ she chirped, a little too loudly.

  


‘Don’t even try it. What happened?’ Primrose asked.

  


‘Nothing—well, not really… I didn’t make enough money yesterday,’ she said. That was all Primrose needed to hear. When dancers didn’t make enough tips, Helgenish would punish them by taking away their dinner the following night. 

  


‘Here,’ Primrose said, and handed her the fork that came with her plate. She put the food on the stone floor between them. 

  


‘Wha-? No! Primrose, you don’t have to do that. You need food, too!” Yusufa whispered, and pushed the plate back towards Primrose. Primrose pushed it back.

  


‘I’ve got more than enough; we can share,’ she said firmly. ‘You have some first, though. You haven’t performed yet and you’ll need the energy.’

  


Yusufa hesitated, but then her hunger got the better of her and she did as she was asked. She took a forkful of rice and sauce and ate it, barely taking the time to chew. She had another, and then handed the fork back to Primrose.

  


They ate together for a while, barely talking but still taking comfort in each other’s non threatening presence. Primrose would never say it, but it was moments like these that kept her grounded throughout her time here. Yusufa provided a brief chance to pretend that this wasn’t her life. A break, where she could lower her guard ever so slightly—just enough to recharge and make it through the rest of the week. 

  


Soon enough, it was time for Yusufa’s shift. She murmured a goodbye to Primrose as she got to her feet. Primrose watched her as she made her way out. 

  


They saw each other again from a distance when their shifts crossed over in the tavern, but not again until the end of the night in their shared dormitory. Primrose had just showered. It was a part of her nightly (or morningly, more accurately) ritual that cleansed her of the degradation she was forced to weather each day. She returned to the dormitory around three o’clock to find most of the other dancers already asleep. She tiptoed through the narrow space between the rows of beds until she got to her own. Yusufa was still awake, sitting with her legs crossed at the end of her bed, just a few across from Primrose’s. 

  


‘Hey, Prim!’ she whispered. Primrose stepped over to Yusufa’s bed. Yusufa patted the bed beside her and Primrose sat down next to her. 

  


‘How was tonight?’ Primrose asked. ‘Did you make your quota?’

  


Yusufa nodded. ‘Yeah, thank the gods…’ She paused for a moment, looking down at her feet, and then continued. ‘And… Thank you, Primrose. I don’t think I would’ve had the strength to pull it off if it weren’t for you.’

  


‘Don’t mention it,’ Primrose replied.  _ Seriously, though, please don’t _ . 

  


Yusufa reached out and pulled Primrose into a tight embrace before she had time to react. Primrose tensed, then relaxed almost instantly. Despite everything in her mind and instinct telling her to get out, she let herself be held. After a moment, Yusufa began to pull away, probably sensing Primrose’s initial shock, but Primrose placed a hand on her back, urging her silently to stay.

  


‘This doesn’t…’ Primrose began, voice muffled as she spoke against Yusufa’s shoulder. ‘This doesn’t mean anything. We’re not-’

  


Yusufa shushed her before she could finish. ‘I know,’ she whispered. Her breath was warm against her ear. ‘This is a no-strings-attached hug, I promise.’

  


Primrose smiled at that. She felt a hand brush its way up her back and rest just below the nape of her neck.

  


‘Your hair is damp,’ Yusufa murmured.

  


‘I just showered,’ Primrose replied. 

  


‘Can I brush through it? It’ll dry faster.’

  


Primrose nodded, and moved to get up off the bed. 

  


Yusufa reached out and took her hand. ‘Don’t get up! I’ll just use mine.’ 

  


She leaned over the edge of the bed and reached underneath, shuffling around for a moment before popping back up with a wooden brush in her hand. 

  


‘Here, sit on the bed properly,’ she said, moving herself back a bit to give her room. Primrose pulled her legs up onto the bed and sat with her back to Yusufa. She began to brush through her hair, starting at the knotted ends and working her way slowly, gently upwards. Primrose couldn’t remember the last time someone else had brushed her hair. 

  


No, she could. It was when she was a lot younger, her father used to brush her hair in the mornings and they would talk about their dreams from the previous night. Before any of this happened. Before those men had robbed her of him and taken away any chance of her having a normal life. Before she has sworn herself to her quest for vengeance and sacrificed everything to complete it. She closed her eyes and the memory replayed in her mind. She took a deep, measured breath and opened them again. 

  


Yusufa ran her fingers through her hair between each stroke of the brush. The feeling sent a shiver down Primrose’s spine. She leaned into the touch subconsciously before catching herself and straightening back up. If Yusufa noticed, she didn’t say anything. 

  


She continued her work on Primrose’s hair. Softly, kindly. As if she were attending to the highest of noblewomen. Primrose supposed she did everything with kindness; that’s just the sort of person she was. 

  


When she was finished, Yusufa gave Primrose a light tap on the shoulder and set down the brush. Primrose mumbled a few words of thanks and swung her legs back over the side of the bed. Just as she pushed herself to her feet, Yusufa reached out and held her hand. Primrose, bewildered, glanced over her shoulder back at her. 

  


‘Have a good sleep, okay?’ Yusufa smiled at her. She gave her hand a light squeeze and let it go. 

  


‘You too,” Primrose replied, returning the smile in her own, much more reserved, way. ‘Goodnight, Yusufa.’

  


‘Night, Prim.’

  


  


*

  


  


Primrose woke with a start. Her face was plastered against the pages of the tome where she had apparently decided to fall asleep. She lifted her head up, unsticking her skin from the paper. She rubbed her eyes and yawned loudly as her mind emerged from its fog. She could just barely remember the dream she was having; more and more of it slipped away with each conscious second. It wasn’t lost forever, though. The memory that had replayed itself in her sleeping brain was one that Primrose knew well. 

  


With her resolve strengthened, Primrose returned to studying the ritual. She took notes on ingredients, instructions, and potential variables that could affect the outcome of the spell. The ingredients seemed simple enough, which was a surprise. Most of them could probably be found within the bounds of Atlasdam, even.

  


Once she had written down everything she needed, Primrose took the translated pages and her own notes and put them in her bag. She didn’t think Cyrus would mind her borrowing the copies; he had access to the original tome, after all. She made her way back up the stairs from the special collections room and let herself out. The sunlight made her wince when she opened the door. It must have been past noon, at least. 

  


Primrose spent the rest of her day hunting down the ingredients she needed. It wasn’t easy trying to convince the butcher to sell her 5 litres of pig’s blood, but she got there in the end. She checked her list thrice over, making sure she had missed nothing, before heading back via the main road. She was so single-minded in her task that she didn’t notice Cyrus scrutinising her from afar.

  


‘Primrose? Whatever are you doing here?’ he asked, eyeing the large collection of ingredients she had amassed. 

  


Primrose jumped at the sound. One of the jars she was holding precariously bounced out of her grasp. She winced, bracing herself for the inevitable smash of glass on the cobblestone road. It never came, as Cyrus reached out just in time and caught it. 

  


‘Flames, I do apologise! I didn’t mean to startle you like that,’ he exclaimed. ‘I was just on my way to the library, actually; I thought I’d find you there and offer to take you out for a lunch break.’

  


‘No, no, it’s alright,’ she replied, breathing a deep sigh of relief. Cyrus looked at the jar in his hand quizzically. 

  


‘Sulfur powder? What on earth could you possibly do with that?’ he mused, raising an eyebrow at her. Primrose was running on far too little energy to even begin to think of a believable explanation, so she just stared at him and shrugged her shoulders. 

  


‘What else have you got there?’ Cyrus stepped closer, trying to get a good look at the other ingredients she held. Primrose tried to evade him unsuccessfully. ‘Curious bloom, purifying dust, olive extract… Is that blood?!’ Cyrus gasped, but kept his eyes trained on the large container with rapt curiosity. 

  


‘Pig’s blood,’ Primrose replied, completely resigned. 

  


‘But what for? I’ve never heard of any spell requiring such a strange combination of ingredi-’ Cyrus stopped himself mid-sentence. He was silent for a while, brows creased. ‘Primrose… is this for a spell from  _ From the Far Reaches of Hell _ ?’

  


Failing once again to come up with any other reasonable excuse, Primrose nodded. 

  


‘I know, I know. It’s volatile, but I swear I’m being careful. I take this as seriously as you do, Cyrus, you know that.’

  


‘It’s more than volatile; we don’t know  _ what _ could happen if we attempted that kind of ancient, dark magic!’ he stressed.

  


‘Lower your voice!’ she hissed. She motioned for him to follow her to the alleyway off to the side of the road. He followed her, shaking his head and wringing his hands the whole way. She put down what she was carrying and faced him. 

  


‘Primrose, surely you must understand that more research must be done before attempting these rituals,’ Cyrus whispered. ‘Do you even know what this one is supposed to do?’

  


‘Of course I do; it’s why I chose it,’ she answered indignantly. ‘... If you must know, it’s a resurrection spell.’

  


‘A… resurrection spell,’ Cyrus echoed, eyes wide. 

  


‘That’s right.’

  


‘Primrose… I understand your pain. Truly, I do. But surely you must know the risks involved in a ritual of this caliber, to say nothing of the sheer amount of dark magic it would require from you. What if it were to backfire? Or drain you completely?”

  


‘Even so, it would still be worth trying,’ Primrose replied, her resolve showing plainly on her face.

  


‘I understand how hard it is to lose a parent…’ Cyrus began. ‘My mother died four years ago. For so long, I didn’t think I would ever recover from the grief. But she’s gone. And she wouldn’t ever wish for me to risk my own life to bring her back... no parent would. Primrose, I’m sure your father is watching over you still, and he would be so proud of everything you’ve accomplished on your own. But he wouldn’t want this for you, either.’

  


Primrose was silent. Though he had missed the mark somewhat, Cyrus’ words still shook her. 

  


She smiled. ‘I know he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t approve of a lot of the things I’ve done for him, actually. But you’re wrong.’

  


‘What do you mean?’

  


‘It’s not him I want to bring back.’

  


‘Hm? If not, then who?’ 

  


‘There was a woman I once knew. A friend. She died because of me and I stupidly promised I would bring her back… somehow.’

  


Cyrus weathered his lower lip with his teeth. ‘... I can’t let you do this.’ he murmured.

  


‘And just how do you plan on stopping me, exactly?’ Primrose asked, narrowing her eyes. 

  


‘No, that’s not what I mean- I’m sorry,’ he sighed. ‘I just don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you. Primrose, you’re my closest friend. I’m asking—no,  _ begging _ —you to reconsider this.  _ Please _ .’

  


‘You don’t understand,’ she asserted. ‘I promised her… I-’

  


‘No, I don’t understand. Who was she to you?’

  


‘I loved her…’ Primrose felt tears well up in her eyes at the realisation. 

  


Cyrus’ expression softened. He reached out and pulled her into a hug. That was all it took before huge, shuddering sobs wracked through her body. They stood in the alleyway like that for gods know how long. Cyrus rubbed his palm up and down her back as she cried, whispering a series of soothing words as he fought back tears of his own. 

  


‘Cyrus…’ Primrose mumbled against his chest once her breathing had slowed back down and her tears had subsided. 

  


‘Hm?’

  


She pulled away from the hug and looked him in the eyes.

  


‘If it were Olberic who had died, would you not do the same?’ she asked. Cyrus’ eyes widened. ‘If he had been murdered in front of you and you had promised at his dying breath that you would find a way to bring him back, would you not do everything in your power to keep that promise?’

  


‘I-’ he began, before cutting himself off and pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. ‘Yes, I would. It’s a foolish endeavor by all definitions, but I would do anything in your shoes.’

  


‘Thank you-’ said Primrose.

  


‘But!’ he interjected. ‘If I can’t stop you, I’m joining you. I will supervise and assist with the ritual so we can be sure to get it right the first time and minimise the risk it would pose to you. Do you find these terms acceptable?’

  


A smile broke out on Primrose’s face. ‘Yes, I do. Thank you, Cyrus, truly. I’m so grateful to have someone like you as a friend.’

  


This time it was Primrose who pulled him into a hug. When they broke apart, Cyrus helped her to carry all the bottles and jars back to their place. Whatever came to pass, they would face it together.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's mlm/wlw solidarity babey (:


	4. Infirmitatem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOPSIE late chapter again! Probably gonna have to switch to a fortnightly upload schedule bc work and life is so hectic rn

‘What are you going to tell Olberic?’ Primrose asked Cyrus as they sat together in the special collections room the following day. They had been studying the conditions of the ritual in secret, preparing rigorously for every potential setback. 

  


‘I don’t know… the truth? I can’t just disappear to Sunshade for a week without an explanation,’ Cyrus replied, shrugging his shoulders. They needed to travel to Yusufa’s grave site in order to reanimate her corpse; the journey alone would take three days each way, and then there was the ritual itself to consider. 

  


‘You really think he’d let you go if he knew the truth?’ Primrose probed. ‘This is Olberic we’re talking about.’

  


‘Ugh…’ Cyrus slumped over onto the desk, resting his head on his folded arms. ‘I can’t  _ lie _ to him. I don’t  _ want _ to lie to him!’

  


‘Do you have a better idea?’

  


‘No, but… I suppose I could try to convince him it would be safe,’

  


‘Isn’t that still a lie?’ 

  


Cyrus responded by raising his head again and glaring at her. Primrose cocked an eyebrow. 

  


‘You’re not helping!’ he exclaimed.

  


The two of them sat in silence for a long time, both deep in thought. Eventually, Primrose spoke up.

  


‘Perhaps if you tell him the truth but leave out some key details…’

  


‘What do you mean?’ Cyrus asked.

  


‘If you told him we were going to do some research on a site of academic significance—which is true—and just didn’t mention that it would involve necromancy, perhaps that would be enough for him,’ Primrose paused, staring at Cyrus’ face to work out his initial reaction. ‘What do you think?’

  


‘I think…’ he began. ‘It could work. If we frame it as a dull study trip—though study trips are  _ never  _ dull, mind you—he likely wouldn’t wish to join us.’

  


‘Exactly.’ Primrose nodded.

  


  


*

  


  


The following day, Cyrus reported back that he had spoken to Olberic about the trip. While he had initially offered to come with them, Olberic agreed to stay and water Cyrus’ plants when the latter had begun to explain, in excruciating detail, the myriad of fascinating things they would be researching in Sunshade. 

  


Primrose packed everything she would need, taking special care of the ritual ingredients so that nothing would become a casualty of the journey. By nightfall, they were both ready to set off. 

  


‘Have a safe journey,’ said Olberic as they were about to board the wagon. Cyrus stood in front of him, while Primrose hung back, already half inside the car. 

  


‘We will,’ Cyrus answered, and took Olberic’s hands in his own. ‘Take care of yourself here too, love. Remember, only water the plants when their soil is dry, and never before. If you over water them, they  _ will _ die.’

  


‘I know, I know,’ Olberic chuckled. ‘It only took one mistake for me to learn that lesson. When are you going to let it go?’ 

  


Cyrus feigned a pout. ‘Never! I’ll mourn that fern until the end of my days.’ 

  


‘Cyrus, I swear I won’t drown another plant. And as for you, don’t get into too much trouble in Sunshade, alright?’ 

  


‘We won’t! I’ll see you in two weeks, maybe sooner. Try not to miss me too much,’ Cyrus teased.

  


‘Hah!’ Olberic let out a bark of a laugh. ‘As if you won’t!’

  


Cyrus smiled at him and wrapped his arms around Olberic’s broad waist. ‘You’re right, of course. I’ll miss you every day we’re apart.’

  


‘As will I.’ Olberic planted a tender kiss on his forehead.

  


Cyrus reached up and cupped one hand around the scruff of Olberic’s neck, pulling him down for a proper kiss. 

  


They broke apart, and Cyrus boarded the wagon. 

  


‘See you, Olberic,’ Primrose said, and offered a small wave.

  


Olberic nodded. ‘Stay safe, Primrose,’ he replied.

  


With that, she pulled the door closed. As the horses began to walk, then canter, Cyrus looked back at Olberic through the little window. He waved until he couldn’t see him anymore, then sat back down in the carriage and let out a huff. 

  


‘We’ll be back soon,’ Primrose reassured him. 

  


‘If nothing goes wrong,’ he added solemnly. He reached into his satchel and pulled out a book to read, putting a soft end to the conversation. 

  


  


*

  


  


The journey took about as long as expected. They arrived outside Sunshade tavern just after sunset two days after setting off. Primrose would have liked to avoid the site of her past despair, but it was the only place that had any rooms available. 

  


Now, at least, the tavern had fallen into the ownership of two former dancers. It was a hollow reminder of its former shame. Everything looked the same, but the air was less toxic and the girls seemed happier. The floor was cleaner than she had ever seen it—there wasn’t a trace of vomit, nor partially evaporated booze glazing the wood. Primrose felt an unexpected pang of jealousy as she walked past the main stage to the inn section of the tavern. 

  


Cyrus, who was walking behind her, cleared his throat. Primrose looked back at him, confused.

  


‘Can we get this to our rooms? It’s quite heavy,’ he said, glancing down at the armful of boxes he was carrying. Primrose hadn’t even noticed she had stopped in her tracks. 

  


‘Sorry,’ she said, shaking her head sharply as if trying to disperse a fog. ‘I got lost in thought. Memories.’

  


Cyrus furrowed his brow sympathetically. ‘Of course. This place is quite different now, it seems.’

  


‘I don’t know how to feel about it,’ she replied honestly. ‘But you’re right; there’s no use dwelling on it. Let’s go.’

  


She hoisted her bag back on her shoulder to stop it from slipping and led the way once again. They made their way up the flight of stairs to their room. It didn’t take long to unpack what they needed for the night, but the two of them were so exhausted that they collapsed into their beds at only half past eight. As she often did these days, Primrose dreamt of Yusufa.

  


  


*

  


  


Primrose was weak. There she was, sitting in the dormitory where anyone could walk in, and weeping. She had just returned from breakfast, and everyone else was still out—for now. But, like a fool, she had let her mind linger for a moment too long on memories of her father. Before she knew it, she had lost her composure. An uncontrollable volume of tears swelled and spilled from her eyes. 

  


You would hope that after spending four years in a place like this, she would have learned by now to keep this side of her under control. She was nineteen, for gods’ sake. Far too old to compromise her mission by crying like a silly child. She contracted her abdominal muscles in an effort to quell the sobs that quaked through her body. She drew her legs up to her chest. Maybe, she hoped, if she made herself small enough she would cease to exist and no one could find her like this. 

  


There was a knock at the door. Primrose stilled, not daring to breathe. She couldn’t answer. It would be obvious from her voice who she was—and worse, that she had been crying. Her pulse quickened as the door creaked open. It was at the far end of the room, at least ten metres away from her. If someone came in, they might not see her. If she could just stay completely still. 

  


She knew who it was as soon as they entered the room. Yusufa stood in the doorway, glancing around the room. Her gaze met Primrose’s.  _ Shit _ . 

  


‘Prim?’

  


No point in pretending she wasn’t here now. Primrose kept her face angled downwards, hoping desperately that she didn’t look noticeably splotchy. She relaxed her legs, letting them fall back down into a natural-ish sitting position. 

  


‘Hey, Yusufa.’ She managed to keep her voice level. ‘Do you need something?’

  


‘Not really, I was just checking to see if anyone was still in here,’ she replied, strolling closer to where Primrose sat. ‘Actually, that was a lie. I came to see where you went off to… and I found you!’

  


‘Why would you care?’ Primrose asked, her voice cracking.

  


‘I- Primrose, are you alright?’ Yusufa’s brow furrowed with concern and she hurried over to sit beside her. ‘What’s wrong?’

  


Primrose let out a shuddering sigh. ‘It’s not important,’ she murmured. 

  


Yusufa draped her arm around Primrose’s shoulders. 

  


‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,’ she said. ‘But whatever it is, I’m sure it’s going to be okay in the end.’

  


Primrose’s lip curled into a slight smile.

  


Yusufa continued, ‘You’re strong, Prim. Way stronger than me. If I know anything, it’s that you could face any challenge and come out victorious. Whatever you’re upset about, it’s no match for you. But it’s also okay to cry. Around me, I mean. I wouldn’t tell anyone. And it can help, you know? Getting those feelings out of you. Sorry, am I rambling? I’m rambling…’

  


‘It’s okay,’ Primrose said, amused. At the very least, it was taking her mind off it. 

  


‘Oh, okay. Um…’ Yusufa paused, tapping her chin with her index finger. ‘Did you see Kara this morning? Her hair is  _ bright _ red! I think she tried to dye it last night but something went wrong. Hopefully it washes out, but it was still pretty funny.’

  


‘I saw,’ Primrose replied, and let out a small chuckle. 

  


‘Honestly though, Prim? I think you could pull it off,’ she said.

  


‘Whatever.’ Primrose couldn’t help smiling.

  


‘So... I’ve been thinking of getting some platform sandals. You know, so I can look taller on stage. What do you think? They’re kind of expensive but they’d be worth it, right?’

  


‘Maybe you could use them to crush the fingers of men who reach out on stage in the middle of your performance,’ Primrose suggested. They were always a pain, trying to touch them—which was already against the rules—and getting in the way at the same time. 

  


‘Good idea!’ Yusufa laughed at the thought. ‘And I could always pretend it was an accident, like—’ She put on her high-pitched, cutesy stage voice, ’—Oopsie! I’m sooooo sorry! I’m just sooooooo clumsy! Whoops, there I go again! Stomp, stomp, stomp. Sorry!’

  


Primrose had stopped crying. She wiped the leftover tears from her face as she laughed. ‘If you promise to do that, I’ll pay half for the platforms,’ she said, grinning.

  


‘Maybe I will… That’d knock them down a few pegs,’ Yusufa mused. Primrose rested her head on Yusufa’s shoulder. It was a strange effect she had on her; Primrose felt completely, inconceivably at ease. 

  


‘I…’ Primrose began, her words catching in her throat.

  


‘Hm?’

  


‘Thank you.’

  


‘Any time, Prim.’

  


  


*

  


  


The following morning, Primrose woke up at dawn. She got up, ate, and prepared everything they would need to take into the desert with them. She paced around the room restlessly, details of the ritual and anxieties about everything that could possibly go wrong swimming through her mind.

  


Cyrus woke up at a more reasonable hour. He knocked on Primrose’s door at around half past eight.

  


‘Ready?’ Primrose asked immediately upon opening the door.

  


‘As I’ll ever be,’ he replied, pressing his lips together and nodding briskly. ‘Have you got everything prepared?’

  


‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’ve been up for hours making sure nothing’s been misplaced.’

  


‘Phew, okay. Breathe. It’s not going to help anything if you’re all worked up like this.’ Cyrus walked past her towards the packs of supplies.

  


‘I know,’ she sighed. ‘Let’s just go; I’ll calm down on the way.’ Primrose walked over and picked up two bags, leaving the other two for Cyrus.

  


‘Okay then, leave me to handle the heaviest ones. I can see that my reputation as a professional strongman precedes me,’ he said, hoisting the two remaining packs over his shoulders and just about keeling over from the effort.

  


Primrose sighed. ‘Fine. Give me the blood.’ Cyrus happily swapped it with her much lighter bag of herbs. 

  


They met the horses they had hired and their handler outside the tavern and loaded the bags onto their saddles. Once they were ready to depart, Primrose handed over the payment to the man, who bid them safe travels and graciously reminded them of the deadline to bring the horses back to him. 

  


It was only a short trek to get to the site of Yusufa’s grave, but they needed the horses due to the sheer weight of equipment they needed to bring with them. As they neared the cliff side, Primrose’s breath caught in her throat. 

  


‘Are you alright?’ Cyrus asked hesitantly, glancing over at her. 

  


‘Not exactly, but I’ll be fine.’ Primrose stepped slowly over to an area directly below the cliff. It looked almost identical to every other patch of sand in the area, but she knew the horrific event that haunted it. The sun blazed in the sky, coating the ground in a hazy mist of heat. The sand glowed in its light, creating mounds and valleys of smooth, golden dust. 

  


Beneath layers upon layers of eternally shifting earth rested the woman she loved. She wasn’t sure if her body would have been preserved by the hot, dry sand, or whether it would have slowly decomposed to a husk of what she once was.  _ She deserved so much better than this _ . 

  


Primrose knelt down and placed her palm against the sand. She didn’t feel it happen, but she saw tears begin to fall from her face, sinking into oblivion as soon as they hit the sand below. After a minute (or perhaps ten), she stood up, still staring at that spot on the ground. She glanced over at Cyrus, who had just finished unloading the supplies from their packs.

  


‘Whenever you’re ready,’ he said.

  


‘Let’s do this.’ Primrose felt her legs begin to move in his direction. Her body knew what needed to be done, even if she didn’t have the strength to will it. In solemn silence, she and Cyrus began to set up the site. The measurements had to be precise; there was no room for error. Diligently, they prepared every ingredient. Some needed to be placed—drawn, rather—in a specific, powerful shape directly over the grave site. Some needed to be mixed together into an offensive, astringent-smelling concoction. Some needed to be reserved for the final step. 

  


The pig’s blood—a human’s worth of it, as the tome had specified—was poured slowly into the centre of the carved earth. It was then that Primrose could begin chanting the spell. She felt the magic inside her surge with the incantation, bubbling up violently until it threatened to spill her very being out from her veins. This much dark magic was difficult to control. Primrose gritted her teeth, focusing her mind on the one thing she wanted more than anything in the world. Her magic swelled, reaching its excruciating climax, and she screamed. 

  


Then, it faded. Primrose collapsed to the ground. She wrenched her eyes open to look at the ritual’s epicentre. Nothing. The blood-stained sand did not shift. The spell’s ingredients remained intact. Even the air seemed still. Another moment passed, then seconds, then minutes.

  


‘Did it... did it not work?’ Primrose asked, breathing heavily. 

  


Cyrus walked towards her, shaking his head.

  


‘Something wasn’t right,’ he said. He offered a hand to pull her up, which she gratefully took. She leaned on him as they walked to the shade of the cliff side. They sat down. Primrose winced and cursed loudly.

  


‘What happened?!’ she said, exasperated. 

  


‘I don’t know,’ Cyrus replied simply.

  


‘We did everything right. We checked— _ triple checked _ !’ Primrose’s voice cracked, and she whispered, ‘Why didn’t it work…?’

  


Cyrus wrapped his arms around her and squeezed firmly. Primrose crumpled against him. She began to cry.

  


‘I don’t know,’ he repeated, brushing his thumb back and forth on her upper arm. ‘But we can figure it out. Let’s pack up here and go back to the tavern. There, we can read over the passage again, as many times as it takes, and find out what we did wrong. There’ll be something; there’s always something.’

  


Primrose nodded.

  


Getting back to her feet was like lifting a sack of rocks. Despite everything, they managed to get everything—minus the blood that had been discarded into the sand—packed up and attached to the horses. 

  


They hadn’t come this far to give up just yet.

  



	5. Anastasis

Back in their room at the tavern, Primrose paced restlessly from one wall to the other. Cyrus sat at the small desk in the corner of the room, eyes trained on the page of the tome that held the ritual. 

  


‘Perhaps the ingredients needed to be fresher?’ he proposed.

  


‘All the herbs came straight from the plant, and the blood was from two pigs that were slaughtered the day I bought it,’ Primrose replied, rubbing her temples with her index fingers and letting out a long breath. 

  


‘Pig’s blood…’ Cyrus echoed, ‘Are you certain that would suffice? I realise it doesn’t specify, but...’

  


‘Well, no…’ she admitted. ‘But what else could I do? I can’t very well use human blood.’

  


‘True… But note the runes here.’ Cyrus beckoned her over to the desk and pointed out a line on the page. She scanned it to little avail.

  


‘Cyrus, I can’t translate this,’ she said.

  


‘It’s just as I transcribed for you: “A human’s worth of blood, spilled over the site of death”.’

  


‘Yes? I made sure to measure the amount to match what a human’s worth would be.’

  


‘And you’re right; that  _ should _ have been enough. But I wonder if perhaps the specific mention of “human” means something more palpable…’ Cyrus explained. ‘If it were literal, for instance, you would need to drain another person of all the blood in their body over the site of death. Which, as you know, we simply  _ cannot _ do.’ 

  


‘Surely it couldn’t be _ that _ literal… That would defeat the purpose of the spell,’ Primrose pleaded to nobody in particular. 

  


‘Perhaps not. It  _ is _ dark magic, after all. A life for a life doesn’t sound too far fetched for something like this.’

  


Primrose laughed coldly. ‘It’s almost poetic, in a way,’ she said. 

  


‘... Surely you can’t be considering it?’ Cyrus pressed.

  


She shook her head. ‘Of course not.’ 

  


‘Oh, good. You had me worried for a moment there,’ Cyrus laughed uneasily. 

  


‘Unless…’

  


‘—Unless?!’ 

  


‘What if I could use human blood without harming anyone else?’ she posited, a curious glint in her eyes.

  


‘And precisely how would you go about that?’ he asked.

  


‘The blood will be mine.’

  


‘What? No! Primrose, you can’t be serio-’

  


‘No one else need spill their blood for my cause,’ she interrupted. ‘It should be mine... I’ll find a way to do it and still live to cast the ritual, just you wait.’

  


With that, Primrose strode towards the door.

  


‘Where are you going?’ Cyrus bemoaned.

  


‘To do some more research,’ she replied, leaving without waiting for an answer. 

  


Cyrus slumped over the desk, head in his hands, and let out a long groan.

  


  


*

  


  


Nearly two hours later, Primrose returned. She pushed the door open with such force that it slammed into the wall with a loud crash. Cyrus jumped out of his seat with a high-pitched yelp. Primrose winced. 

  


‘Sorry about that,’ she said. She pulled the door closed, careful not to abuse it any further.

  


‘What have you found out?’ he asked, gingerly sitting back down in the dusty upholstered chair. 

  


‘It’s possible. To drain a human’s worth of blood from a person without killing them, I mean. Sorry again about the door… I suppose I was just eager to share the news.’

  


‘That was very unlike you, Primrose—you scared me half to death! Are you sure you’re alright?’ Cyrus asked. 

  


‘As you know, I’m going through something very emotionally turbulent right now. So no, not particularly... But did you hear what I just said?’ 

  


‘Yes, I did. And I knew it was possible already, I’m afraid. If you had stopped to discuss it with me before gallivanting away on your own perhaps I could have shared that with you,’ he said, pausing a moment to stare indifferently at her. Primrose just stared back. Then, he elaborated, ‘You would have to slowly siphon it over a number of weeks to allow the body to properly replenish what was taken.’

  


‘Exactly. I’m going to extract my own blood to use in the ritual. It’s human, so it should work this time,’ Primrose explained.

  


‘Except it won’t be fresh,’ Cyrus interjected. ‘There could be some issue with the fact that some of the blood would be weeks old, don’t you agree?’

  


‘That  _ could _ potentially pose an issue, but I plan on drawing the blood over a much shorter period: four days.’

  


Cyrus opened his mouth to protest, but Primrose shushed him and continued, ‘I’ve done the calculations and my body will be able to replenish the blood over that timeframe, allowing us to drain the necessary volume to use when it’s still as fresh as possible.’

  


‘Barely!’ Cyrus exclaimed. ‘Primrose, you realise this would take an  _ incredible _ toll on you. Your body would be completely occupied with producing more blood to replace what would be lost—why, you would be so weak you would scarcely be able to move!’

  


‘If that’s the sacrifice I have to make to bring her back, then so be it. Four days is nothing compared to how long I’ve been unable to fulfil my promise.’ 

  


Primrose had that look in her eyes that Cyrus recognised from the day he had discovered her secret. Grief and determination, each burning as brightly as the other, morphing into one. 

  


‘I can see there’s no changing your mind,’ Cyrus replied, gnawing subconsciously on his lower lip. 

  


‘So you’ll help me?’ she asked. 

  


‘Of course. What are friends for, if not to assist in one another’s increasingly elaborate and life-threatening attempts at necromancy?’ He laughed unconvincingly. 

  


‘Let’s get started, then.’

  


  


*

  


  


It took them only a couple of days to source the equipment they would need to siphon and properly store Primrose’s blood. Soon, they had a set up that would allow them to perform the task. Primrose would need to stay in one place for the entire process to avoid tiring herself out, and Cyrus would act as her nurse, bringing her food and monitoring her vitals. 

  


As the last of the preparations were completed, Primrose lay down on her bed, back propped up by a few pillows behind her. 

  


‘Are you ready? Would you like to eat first?’ Cyrus asked, voice wavering with concern.

  


‘No, It’s alright. I’m not hungry just yet.’ Primrose assured him. She smiled at him with as much confidence as she could muster. He nodded, and unwrapped a needle. 

  


‘It’s a beautiful day today, don’t you think?’ he offered.

  


Primrose chuckled. ‘You don’t need to distract me; just do it.’

  


‘Very well,’ he said, a small smile tugging at his lips, and inserted the sharp point into the vein at the crook of her elbow. Then, he attached a thin tube to the other end of the needle, leading to one of the many large jars they had acquired for the occasion. He turned the small, metal valve on the side of the needle, and Primrose’s blood began to flow. 

  


‘Tell me as soon as you begin to feel weak,’ he said.

  


‘I will,’ Primrose replied, giving a short nod. 

  


From there, the process was straightforward, but gruelling for the both of them. They paused the blood flow when they slept, in short bursts of three hours each over the course of each day. Upon waking, Cyrus would then fetch Primrose some food and water to replenish her energy and fluids, and then unclasp the valve once more. 

  


This routine repeated for days, neither able to do anything but focus on the task at hand and ensure Primrose didn’t fall into hypovolemic shock: a life-threatening condition that they had to avoid at all costs, which was at risk to set in if Primrose at any point lost over one fifth of the total volume of blood in her body. As long as they controlled the amount of blood that they drained from her with respect to how much she was able to produce, they would not go below the threshold and she wouldn’t be in any danger. Theoretically. 

  


What they didn’t plan for was just how quickly the symptoms could advance on them. Primrose felt fine, though her fingers and toes were cold and her mind was a tad foggy. 

  


‘Primrose, are you feeling alright? You look pale,’ Cyrus asked. He placed a palm on her forehead and swore under his breath. He immediately turned off the valve, stopping the blood flow from her arm. 

  


‘What are you doing?’ Primrose demanded. ‘Open it again; I’m fine.’

  


‘No, I will  _ not _ be doing that. Any longer and you would have started to lose consciousness. Here, let me take your pulse.’ He reached out to place two fingers against the artery in Primrose’s neck. 

  


‘I can barely feel it—you need to drink,  _ now _ ,’ Cyrus instructed. He picked up the glass of water from the bedside table and lifted it to Primrose’s mouth.

  


She took a slow sip, then motioned for him to put it down. 

  


‘Cyrus, please, I feel well enough…’ She trailed off, slurring her words. She looked up at him for a moment, confused. ‘Wha-?’

  


The last thing she saw was panic dawn across Cyrus’s face before she blacked out. 

  


  


*

  


  


It was the night she had spotted him. The man with the mark of the crow on his left arm; one of the men who had conspired to murder her father in cold blood, loitering in the shady corner of the tavern. As soon as her mind had registered his presence, he was heading towards the exit. Her eyes were trained on him and she moved forward in a haze. He walked through the front doors, the dark hood that obscured his face billowing behind him. She picked up her pace; she had no intention of letting him escape from her view.

  


‘And where do you think you’re going?’ the unmistakable growl of Helgenish’s voice came from beside her, and a rough, sweaty hand clamped down on her shoulder. Her breath hitched in her throat. 

  


‘So curious about that man, are you? Was it love at first sight, kitten?’ he jeered. 

  


‘Master…’ Primrose struggled to think of an explanation.

  


‘You wouldn’t think of abandoning the stage and your customers before the night is through, now would you?’ he crooned. ‘Back to work, Primrose.’

  


He leaned closer, and spoke directly into her ear. She shuddered at the feeling of his putrid breath ghosting over her skin. 

  


‘I trust I don’t need to repeat myself? You  _ do _ remember what happens to the wicked little kittens who cross me, don’t you?’ His mouth curled into a sadistic snarl. 

  


Primrose hastily nodded. Helgenish released his grip on her shoulder and watched as she strode back to where the customers were congregating. Satisfied, he stepped out of the tavern—to where exactly, she didn’t care to guess. He would be back.

  


She stood and stared at the doors. This could have been her only chance. A familiar voice broke her out of her stupor. 

  


‘Prim? What’s the matter?’ Yusufa asked as she approached her. ‘It’s not like you to look all flustered like this…’

  


Primrose broke her gaze away from the door to look at Yusufa, unable to bring forth the words she wanted so desperately to give her.

  


‘You don’t need to tell me. For you to risk angering the master like that, it must be something important…’

  


It was all she could do to give a shaky nod.

  


A strange expression flashed over Yusufa’s face. ‘Leave it to me,’ she said. ‘When the master gets back, I’ll keep his eyes busy. You slip out the back door on the upper floor.’

  


Primrose shook her head. ‘You shouldn’t get involved. You will put yourself at risk.’

  


‘Look, Prim,’ Yusufa began, taking hold of Primrose’s hands with her own and giving them a gentle squeeze. ‘Maybe you don’t tell me what you’re thinking. But that doesn’t matter to me. I’m on your side and always will be.’

  


‘On my… side?’ Primrose murmured. 

  


‘When the other girls would pick on me and tell me to know my place… You were always the only one who stood by me. You never say much… You’re always so distant. Aloof, even. But I know you just don’t want to burden others with your troubles. I know you better than you think, Prim. And I know that, deep down, you have a good heart.’

  


‘A good... heart?’ Primrose could scarcely process what she was hearing. ‘Yusufa... I… Thank you.’

  


Yusufa looked at her with the softest expression anyone had ever given her. She leaned closer to Primrose, tilted her head ever so slightly, and kissed her. Primrose’s heart skipped a beat. It was feather light, their lips barely brushing together, but it would become the most memorable kiss she had ever experienced. Yusufa tasted of rosemary and honeyed bread, and kissed her as delicately as the wings of a butterfly dance through the air. Primrose could still feel the warmth of her lips lingering long after she had pulled them away again. 

  


‘Good luck,’ Yusufa said, smiling. She gave her hand a final squeeze before letting her go. 

  


Primrose couldn’t help but notice the natural blush beginning to show through her rouge.  _ Beautiful.  _ Primrose smiled back at her, hoping that Yusufa could understand everything she couldn’t say out loud.  _ Of course she could _ . Primrose turned around then, and made her way upstairs to the back door of the tavern. 

  


*

  


  


Primrose awoke just a few hours after falling unconscious. She agreed then, reluctantly, to slow the process to avoid such a thing happening again. After the fifth day of siphoning her blood, they finally had enough for the ritual. Cyrus imposed an additional night’s rest on her before allowing her to travel. She suspected that was as much for his sake as hers—he looked beyond exhausted by the end of it—so she didn’t protest. 

  


On the morning of the sixth day, Primrose and Cyrus gathered the ingredients they needed and loaded them onto the backs of the horses once more. The moment they arrived at the site, Primrose dismounted and began to set up the area. Cyrus prepared the poultice from the other ingredients under the shade of the cliff, glancing over at Primrose every so often to make sure she was alright. 

  


‘There, that should do it,’ Primrose announced after about fifteen minutes. ‘Take a look at this, would you? I’d like to double check to ensure there’s no, erm, human error.’

  


‘A scholar to the core!’ Cyrus praised, and wandered over to scrutinise the runes she had drawn. 

  


‘Everything looks to be in order,’ he said. He walked back to where he was working before, and brought back the mixture he had assembled. ‘Is this up to your standards?’

  


Primrose waved her hand over the bowl to smell it, then gave it a stir to assess the consistency. 

  


‘Seems right to me,’ she replied. They placed portions of the concoction in the correct spaces, then stood back to take one final look at their handiwork. 

  


‘The blood, now,’ Primrose instructed.

  


‘You’re ready for this?’ Cyrus asked.

  


‘Yes.’

  


The blood— _ her blood _ —was poured into the sand in the centre, and then she began to recite the incantation. Same as last time, she could feel the magic within her begin to come alive at her command. It grew larger, bolder, and became more difficult to control. Primrose persisted, chanting the spell louder. Her magic surged, reaching the point where it had fallen apart the last time, only now it grew even stronger. It burned within her veins, as if her blood had turned to molten steel. She cried out. This magic far surpassed anything she had ever attempted to execute before, drawing from her power the likes of which she never knew she could conjure. 

  


Her eyes were fixed on the centre of Yusufa’s grave. She noticed the sand begin to shift, swirling in circles as if it were liquid, a whirlpool that grew faster and wider by the second. 

  


Then, the dark magic began to subside. The sand slowed to near stillness, until only a small patch was left shifting and settling. Primrose felt her knees buckle, threatening to give way beneath her, but she stood strong. Something pushed out from beneath the earth, sending sand cascading down around it. A hand. Skeletal, but seemingly regenerating flesh by the second. A second arm breached the surface, clawing at the sand around it as if trying to drag itself up. It grew before their eyes, stands of muscle fibre entangling their way up the bone, skin building upon it like papier-mâché. 

  


Primrose stumbled over to it and knelt down to frantically dig up the sand around it. That was the help those decrepit limbs needed to hoist the rest of their body from the ground, crawling and dragging itself out into the sunlight. 

  


‘Yusufa?’ Primrose called.

  


Coughing, spluttering, and then... That familiar voice cried out from the rapidly regenerating corpse. ‘... P-Prim!’

  


‘Yusufa!’ Primrose sobbed, tears streaming down her face. ‘Yusufa… Shhh, you’re alright… You’re alright…’ Primrose lay her hands on Yusufa’s sides, gently drawing her close. 

  


Yusufa wept, her body contorting as it regained its vitality. She leaned into Primrose’s touch and let herself be held by her. 

  


‘Prim… it hurts so much—ngh!’ she whimpered. Her face had finished reconstructing itself, and the rest of her body didn’t seem far behind. Such accelerated healing would no doubt come with unimaginable pain. 

  


‘It won’t be for much longer. I’m sorry, Yusufa…’ Primrose ran her fingers through Yusufa’s hair slowly, rhythmically, as she whispered words of comfort.

  


‘W-What’s happening to me? I—He stabbed me and then—agh!’ Yusufa’s words were shaky. 

  


‘You’re alright now, I promise,’ Primrose murmured, holding her closer. ‘You’re safe… I won’t let anybody hurt you ever again.’

  


Yusufa buried her face in Primrose’s chest, gritting her teeth to bear the pain. 

  


And finally, after what seemed like an eternity, it subsided. Her body had fully regenerated. There were no scars, no reminders of that day in the Sunshade desert. Yusufa’s breathing slowed to a regular pace, and she lifted her head to look up at Primrose. ‘What happened… that day?’ she asked.

  


‘You…’ Primrose began, hesitating for a moment. ‘You died. Helgenish… he stabbed you and threw you off the cliff. I killed him for it, but I couldn’t save you… I’m so sorry, Yusufa.’

  


‘You did what you could,’ Yusufa assured her. 

  


‘But I—I was the reason you got caught up in all of that in the first place,’ Primrose said, shaking her head. 

  


‘No, you weren’t; I _ chose _ to help you. When I told you I’d always be on your side, I meant it… But, Prim, what happened after that? How did I survive…?’

  


‘You… didn’t. Do you remember what I promised you that day?’ Primrose asked.

  


Yusufa nodded.

  


‘Well, I kept that promise… in the end. I performed a ritual to bring you back. It didn’t work at first but this time—this was our second attempt.’

  


‘Our?’ Yusufa lifted her head from where she rested it on Primrose’s chest to look around. Cyrus noticed her glance his way and waved.

  


‘My friend, Cyrus, helped me,’ Primrose explained. ‘He’s a scholar from Atlasdam who studies this sort of thing.’

  


‘But, Prim… you… you used magic to bring me back? I’ve never heard of such a thing… How did you even know it was possible?’

  


‘I didn’t. But if there was any chance to make good on my promise to you, no matter how slim, I had to take it.’

  


‘Prim…’ Yusufa started, but trailed off as she began to cry. 

  


‘Yusufa-!’ Primrose exclaimed. Yusufa sat up and pulled Primrose into a tight hug. Primrose stroked her back as she wept into her shoulder. Yusufa pulled back after a moment, looking at her through tear-soaked eyes. Before she could react, Yusufa closed the space between them and pressed her lips to Primrose’s. Primrose sighed and kissed her back, her own eyes threatening to spill over with tears. It was just as she remembered, only this time it felt like a year’s worth of lost chances condensed into one. Primrose kissed her like she needed it to stay alive, and Yusufa returned that fervour twofold. Yusufa laced her fingers through Primrose’s curls, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss. After a moment more, they parted, though they remained close enough to feel the warmth of each other’s breath. 

  


As Yusufa gazed at her, her green eyes shone more brilliantly than Primrose had ever seen. She was so mesmerised that she almost didn’t hear her when she whispered ‘I love you, Primrose.’

  


Primrose’s breath caught in her throat. ‘I… love you, too,’ she said, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. 

  


‘Also, um… how long was I dead for?’ Yusufa asked gingerly.

  


‘Just over a year.’

  


‘Oh… I’m  _ really _ hungry.’ 

  


Primrose chuckled under her breath. ‘Alright, let’s go get you something to eat,’ she said. She stood up and offered a hand to Yusufa. ‘I doubt you’d be picky at this point, but just to be sure: is the tavern okay?’

  


Yusufa’s stomach gurgled loudly, and she burst out laughing. ‘There’s your answer!’ she said. 

  


‘Do you need a hand to get to the horses?’ Cyrus asked as he approached them. 

  


‘That would be appreciated,’ Primrose replied. She had draped one of Yusufa’s arms over her shoulders, but was already struggling to bear the weight after the toll the ritual had taken on her. Together, they helped Yusufa across the sand and hoisted her up onto one of the horses. Primrose sat behind her to keep her steady, and Cyrus rode behind them. For the first time since that day, Primrose felt as though a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. 

  



	6. Amare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took fucking forever... but it's done.

As the sun reached its peak in the sky, they approached the outer border of the city. Soon enough, they had reached the tavern. Primrose swung her leg over her horse’s saddle and dismounted, then she reached up to help Yusufa get down, too. She huffed as Yusufa’s full weight shifted from the horse to her, but managed to lift her down gently. 

‘How do you feel?’ she asked. ‘Can you walk?’

‘I think so,’ Yusufa said. ‘Can you stay close, though? Just in case?’

‘Of course,’ Primrose replied. She held her hand out between them. Yusufa took hold of it and laced her fingers between Primrose’s. Cyrus, having just finished tying up the horses, followed them as they slowly made their way inside. 

Yusufa perked up significantly once she had begun to eat. 

‘It feels like I’m eating for a whole year’s worth of hunger!’ she exclaimed, eyes glistening. 

‘Slow down or you might throw up a whole year’s worth…’ Primrose cautioned, trying to hide her amused smile. 

‘Actually, the food here isn’t quite as bad as you let on, Primrose,’ Cyrus chimed in thoughtfully. 

‘It used to be a lot worse, believe me,’ she replied.

‘You know, I was gonna say so earlier but the tavern seems like a much better place now that Helgenish’s gone. Don’t you think?’ Yusufa added, her voice muffled by the food in her mouth. 

‘It’s owned by two women now—former dancers—, so that’s probably why,’ Primrose explained. 

Yusufa swallowed her mouthful, then asked, ‘Hey, do you think I might still technically be employed here since I never actually quit?’

That got a laugh out of both Primrose and Cyrus.

‘Maybe… But you won’t have to go back to dancing if you don’t want to,’ Primrose said.

‘It might just be my only skill, so I’m not sure where else I could get a job...’ Yusufa said, suddenly glum at the realisation. 

‘You don’t have to get a job,’ Primrose said firmly. ‘Not until you want to, at least. You could live with me at the estate, if you’d like.’

‘Estate? What do you mean?’ Yusufa cocked her head to the side.

‘When my father died, he left our family estate in my name. It’s in Noblecourt, and quite comfortable… You’d like it, I think.’

Yusufa widened her eyes and raised a hand to her mouth, agape. ‘Woah, hold on! You’re a noble?!’

‘Erm… yes.’ Primrose brushed her hair behind her ear, suddenly self-conscious. 

‘What on earth were you doing in Sunshade, then?!’

‘It’s a long story for another time.’

‘Oh… Well, that’s a relief in any case! I’d love to stay with you if you’d have me.’

‘As if I’d resurrect you and then leave you to fend for yourself,’ Primrose replied lightheartedly. 

Once Yusufa had finished eating, her mouth opened wide for a loud yawn.

‘What time are we going to leave for Noblecourt?’ she asked.

‘As soon as you like, really,’ Primrose replied. ‘But we need to stop in Atlasdam on the way—that’s where Cyrus lives.’

‘Oh, sure. Do I have time for a nap first? You know, for someone who hasn’t moved in over a year, I’m  _ exhausted _ .’

Primrose let out a sigh-like laugh. ‘That’s to be expected; the ritual would have taken as much a toll on your body as mine. After all, it was your cells that had to regenerate themselves. That much healing in such a short period of time would have taken a lot of energy.’ She looked pointedly across as Cyrus, who was hurriedly taking notes in his field journal.

‘We discussed this earlier, and though it’s merely a hypothesis for now, it seems that based on your otherwise inexplicable exhaustion we may have been correct. This is simply fascinating!’ Cyrus rambled. ‘To be the first witnesses of thus unrecorded magic is a privilege indeed…’

‘Yes, well, we can talk about that later. For now, you can rest in my room,’ Primrose said, directing her gaze back at Yusufa. 

‘Certainly! Shall we begin packing the carriage while she rests?’ Cyrus asked.

‘Yes, we should,’ she replied, and got to her feet. She offered her arm to Yusufa, who took it and pulled herself up. Her legs were still as shaky as a newborn colt’s, though there was noticeable improvement from earlier in the day. They walked together slowly, tackling the stairs one at a time.

Primrose unlocked and opened the door to her room at the end of the upper floor’s hallway

‘It’s a bit untidy…’ she warned.

‘That’s okay,’ Yusufa waved her hand dismissively. Primrose helped her over to the bed, and sat on the edge as she lay down. 

Just as she was about to get up to leave, Yusufa reached out and took her hand. ‘Prim, before you go…’ she began. Her cheeks were stained pink and her lip quivered in anticipation. 

‘Yes?’

‘When said I love you earlier, I meant it. It wasn’t just in the heat of the moment or anything. I just said it then because, well… I’ve known for a long time and I never really got to tell you before… you know.’

‘Yusufa…’ Primrose tried to say what was on her mind, but the words seemed to jumble up on the way and turn into empty air. 

‘If you meant what you said, too, then I want to know if you’d like to, um, be with me?’ Yusufa’s pitch raised at the end of her sentence as she became less sure of herself. ‘That might be a stupid question, but if you just said it back because you felt like you had to, or if you were dilerious from the magic, I would completely understand…’

‘Of course I meant it. I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you. How could you ever think I didn’t?’ Primrose laughed at the absurdity of it all. She grasped Yusufa’s hand with both of hers and pulled it up to her chest. ‘Yusufa, I performed ancient, potentially volatile necromancy and nearly died in the process just for the possibility of seeing you again. What part of that would suggest that I’m not in love with you?’ 

‘So... that’s a yes?’ Yusufa asked.

‘ _ Yes _ .’

Yusufa hoisted herself up into a sitting position on the bed and slid her hand around to the small of Primrose's back. Primrose’s breath hitched in her throat, and she leaned in towards her. Their lips met. It was only their third kiss, but Primrose felt like a woman starved. She brought her hand up to cup the nape of Yusufa’s neck, threading her fingers through her soft, downy hair to urge her closer. Yusufa ran her hand across Primrose’s waist in kind. That sent a shiver up her spine, causing her to sigh contentedly into Yusufa’s mouth. Yusufa slid her tongue across Primrose’s lower lip as she kissed her, tantalisingly slow. Primrose could feel her smile against her lips, and in that moment felt all her burdens dissipate into the very air around them. Yusufa was here. Yusufa was alive. Yusufa was  _ kissing her. _ There was no place nor time that she would rather be than here and now. 

When they pulled away from each other, they were both flushed scarlet and breathless. 

‘Well,’ Primrose said, an easy smile on her face. ‘I’ll leave you to rest.’

‘Thank you,’ Yusufa said. She squeezed her hand. 

‘For what?’ Primrose asked, tilting her head. 

‘Everything, really.’ Yusufa paused, then elaborated. ‘I’m just... so happy you didn’t forget about me.’

Primrose laughed. ‘As if I could ever forget about the woman who kissed me for good luck before I went off to kill a man.’ With that, she stood up from the bed. 

‘Hmm… But you decided to kill Helgenish _ after _ I died; that doesn’t count!’ Yusufa argued, flopping back down on the bed with a huff. ‘It was good luck for sneaking out of the tavern!’

‘I left the tavern that night hoping to kill a different man altogether, but I can tell you that story later,’ Primrose replied with a sly smile. 

‘Huh?!’ Yusufa sat up again, slapping the duvet with her palms as she whipped forward. 

‘Sleep well!’ Primrose walked over to the doorway, then turned around to blow her a kiss before closing the door. 

*

The three of them set off for Atlasdam in the early evening. Cyrus and Primrose loaded their luggage into the carriage. They were grateful for it being significantly lighter than what they had brought with them the first time. 

‘How did you sleep?’ Cyrus asked Yusufa when she joined them outside the tavern, hair messy and eyes still half-lidded. 

‘Well, thank you,’ She replied, then promptly yawned. 

‘I’m gladdened to hear it! By all means, you’ll have plenty of time to sleep on the road as well, if you need to,’ he said.

‘Come, now; we ought to set off before sunset,’ Primrose said, and offered a hand out to Yusufa to help her step up into the carriage. Yusufa pulled her hand up to her mouth and winked at Primrose as she kissed the back of it. 

‘Oh—I, um—’ Primrose stammered, feeling the heat rising in her cheeks.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen Primrose this flustered before,’ said Cyrus, stifling a laugh. Yusufa chuckled, a devilish glint in her olive-hued eyes. 

Primrose sighed and shook her head. ‘I suppose you just have that effect on me,’ she conceded, ‘Now come on, let’s get going.’

Yusufa entered the carriage and settled herself down on the leather-bound seat, followed by Cyrus and Primrose. As they shut the door behind them, the horses began to move. The vehicle jostled every time the wheels ran over a large stone or crack in the road. Even so, Yusufa managed to fall asleep again with her head resting on Primrose’s shoulder. 

When she awoke, Primrose told her everything. About her father; about the men who killed him and whom she swore to exact her revenge upon; about how she ended up in Sunshade; about Olberic, Cyrus, Tressa, Ophilia, Alfyn, Therion, and H’aanit; about Lyblac and Galdera, and about everything that had happened since. It took a long time to recount the whole story, but they had plenty to spare.

‘That’s… incredible…’ Yusufa said, as Primrose wrapped up her tale. 

‘I know it’s a lot to take in at once…’ Primrose said, somewhat apologetically.

‘I always knew you were special, Prim,’ she looked up at her from where she was still laying against her shoulder and smiled. Her cheeks shone with the remnants of tears. ‘You went through so much, and somehow still had the energy to save me… You’re a real hero, you know?’

Primrose shook her head. ‘I did what I had to,’ she said, averting her gaze.

‘Accept the compliment, Primrose; you’ve done some amazing things in your lifetime,’ Cyrus piped in from where he was sitting opposite them, a book open in his lap. 

‘You’re a hero, too, Cyrus!’ Yusufa added. 

‘I— oh, nevermind,’ he said, and went back to reading. 

‘We’re going to see Olberic when we get to Atlasdam, right?’ Yusufa asked.

‘We are,’ Primrose answered. ‘I’d been staying with him and Cyrus for the past few months before coming to Sunshade.’

‘Oh, you two live together?’ Yusufa asked, turning back to address Cyrus. 

‘We do. We’re also  _ together _ together, if you understand my meaning,’ he replied, not looking up from his reading. 

‘Ohh… Prim, you should’ve told me!’

‘You know, I’d never really considered this before now, but… is there anyone we travelled with that isn’t gay?’ Primrose asked.

‘Hmm…’ Cyrus pondered the question, lifting his hand to his chin. ‘Well, now that we’ve confirmed that Tressa and Noa are more than friends, it seems not. What a fascinating coincidence!’

Primrose chuckled. ‘I suppose birds of a feather  _ do _ flock together, after all.’

The three of them laughed together, and kept on chatting until they had to pull over to set up camp for the night. 

*

The sun was directly above them when they approached Atlasdam. Yusufa switched seats with Primrose so she could look out the window at the tall buildings and vibrant greenery of the city as they drove through it. When their carriage pulled up outside of Cyrus’ place, the three of them disembarked with their luggage and waved goodbye to the driver. 

‘Your house is beautiful,’ Yusufa said, gazing up at the unique architecture and brightly painted exterior with wide eyes. 

‘All courtesy of the university,’ he replied. ‘Unfortunately the interior may not be as nice to look at. I tend to take my work home with me, which isn’t always the tidiest way to live.’

‘Shall we?’ Primrose gestured towards the door.

‘Yes, let’s!’ Cyrus replied, fumbling through his satchel for his keys. Successful, he strode up to the front door and unlocked it. Before he could reach for the handle, the door swung inwards and there stood Olberic. Cyrus put down his bags and embraced him. Olberic lifted him up off the ground, holding him securely in his strong arms.

‘I was just watering the plants when I heard the horses outside,’ he said jovially. ‘But I wasn’t expecting to see you until this evening!’

He lowered Cyrus to the ground again but kept his hands wrapped around his lower back. 

‘I wanted to see you as soon as possible, my love, so we set off early this morning,’ Cyrus said, beaming up at him. ‘I missed you so much,’ he added in a whisper. With both hands, he reached up and cupped Olberic’s face, pulling him closer to kiss him deeply. 

When he drew away again, Cyrus stepped aside to allow Yusufa and Primrose to greet Olberic as well. 

‘This is Yusufa,’ he said.

Yusufa stepped forward and offered her hand. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Olberic. Prim told me all about your journey together,’ she said warmly.

‘Yusufa is an old friend,’ Primrose explained. ‘Can we come in? You may want to sit down for the whole story.’

‘Of course,’ Olberic said, and held the door open for them to enter. 

Once they had brought the luggage in, they sat down in the living room with a pot of tea. It didn’t take long to get Olberic up to speed with what they had set out to do in Sunshade, and who exactly Yusufa was to Primrose. Cyrus had insisted that they fill him in on every detail, so Primrose complied and explained it all. At the parts where her tears threatened to betray her, she was grounded by Yusufa’s comforting hold on her hand. 

‘... And so here we are. I was able to keep my promise, and I’ve been reunited with the love of my life. Without Cyrus, I would never have been able to do it.’

‘I had suspected there was something more to it than what you were telling me…’ Olberic mused.

‘I’m sorry for keeping it from you,’ Cyrus said sincerely, squeezing Olberic’s hand tighter. ‘I simply couldn’t allow Primrose to undertake something like this unaided, but I didn’t want you to worry about me while we were away.’

‘You needn’t apologise; I understand fully why you withheld the details,’ Olberic said, placing his other hand on top of Cyrus’. ‘All I ask is that the next time you decide to experiment with necromancy or anything of the sort, please do tell me. I wouldn’t worry so much if I could come with you to keep you safe...’

‘I will,’ Cyrus agreed. 

‘What do you plan to do now that you’ve completed your quest?’ Olberic asked Primrose.

‘Well, I think it’s time I returned to Noblecourt,’ she said. ‘I’ve probably outstayed my welcome here, and my father’s estate is in need of a caretaker.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous; you’re welcome here any time, Primrose,’ Cyrus insisted.

‘Thank you, but even so, it’s time we moved on with our lives. Don’t you think, Yusufa?’

Yusufa nodded, and added, ‘We’ll definitely be back to visit!’

‘That’s true,’ Primrose agreed. ‘We’ll have to catch up often.’

‘Of course we will,’ Cyrus said.

‘I’ll be sad to see you go, Primrose, but I wish you both the best of luck. Readjusting to normal life after all we’ve been through is… tough, to say the least. But you’ll get there, as I did.’ said Olberic.

‘Thank you, Olberic,’ Primrose said, smiling softly at him. 

‘When do you think you’ll be leaving for Noblecourt?’ Cyrus asked.

Primrose looked at Yusufa beside her, who gave her a small nod, and she replied, ‘Tomorrow. As long as it’s alright that we stay the night here.’

‘That soon?’ Cyrus exclaimed. ‘Certainly, you can stay the night, but are you sure you don’t want to stay a bit longer?’

‘We’re sure,’ Primrose replied.

‘You must promise to write often!’ Cyrus added.

Primrose laughed, and nodded. ‘I will, don’t you worry.’

‘Good. I’ll look forward to your first correspondence.’

‘Actually, I think it’s been far too long since I’ve seen the others, too…’ Primrose thought out loud. ‘Perhaps we could make a few detours on the way?’

‘I’d like that,’ Yusufa said with a smile.

‘Would you be seeing Tressa on your way, by any chance?’ Olberic asked.

‘Perhaps. Why?’ Primrose replied.

‘If you are, I’d appreciate it if you could deliver a gift to her,’ he explained. ‘I commissioned her a sword for her nineteenth birthday. I had planned to give it to her when she visited with Noa but it wasn’t quite finished by then.’ He stood up and walked over to the wide, wooden chest in the corner of the room, which he opened and pulled out a shortsword in an ornate, jewel-encrusted sheath. 

‘Wow… That’s gorgeous,’ Primrose said as he brought it over. ‘Of course I’ll deliver it. Do you know where she is now?’

‘Per her last letter, I believe she should be stopping in S’warkii for a week from tomorrow,’ he answered. 

‘Perfect! Then we should be able to visit H’aanit and Ophilia at the same time. What do you say, Yusufa?’

Their eyes met, and Yusufa’s shone like the stars as she nodded. 

‘Let’s do it.’

*

“  _ 05/07/xxxx _

_ Dear Cyrus, _

_ It’s frankly embarrassing how long it’s taken me to make good on my promise to write to you. You have my sincerest apologies for neglecting to until now. Yusufa and I have been living in Noblecourt for almost three months at the time of writing this, and we’re both settling in well. No, that’s an understatement. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy in my life.  _

_ But to be honest with you, it was a little strange at first. I felt restless, not having a world to save nor my vengeance driving me towards a singular goal. After being away for so long, for a while I felt as though I might not truly belong here anymore. To have people calling me “Lady Primrose” again was jarring. Like I was an impostor, somehow. Or at least not the woman they thought I was anymore.  _

_ Thankfully, I got over that relatively quickly. Turns out I just needed to find something to do with my time. Noble life can get awfully boring when you’ve spent the last decade fending for yourself out in the world. Who knew? Anyway, I’ve found something new to devote my time to: I’m a consulting professor at the University of Noblecourt now. I teach, yes, but I also get to use their resources for my own research. I’m looking into getting funding for a study into using ancient magic for medicinal purposes. You should come to visit the university some time; I’m sure you’d love the new material. And it’d be nice to see you, too. _

_ That’s not even the best thing that’s going on, either. Yusufa’s taken up acting, and she’s set to perform with a local troupe in just a couple of weeks! She’s even snagged the leading role (but I knew she would. Side note: she is an  incredible actress). It’s a play called  The Gravekeeper’s Daughter. Have you heard of it? I hadn’t until she told me the news, but apparently it’s by quite a famous playwright. But isn’t she amazing? I love her so much, Cyrus, it’s ridiculous. And as for the resurrection, I haven’t noticed any adverse effects on her yet. I hope it stays that way, but I can’t help but worry. I’m keeping a very close eye on things. Just to be safe. _

_ Oh, and we did end up visiting Tressa on our way. Tell Olberic I gave her the sword, and she was elated. He should have seen the look in her eyes; it was as if she were staring at the most amazing treasure in the world. She even gave it a name: Gill. She said it was short for Guillotine, which is… concerning.  _

_ How are you and Olberic? I hope you can find time to visit us soon. It’s been far too long since I’ve seen you two. I’d travel to you, but I wouldn’t want to drag Yusufa away from her rehearsals and I’m not exactly comfortable leaving her alone just yet. Hope to hear from you soon, anyway. _

_ Take care, _

_ Primrose _ ”

*

“  _ 15 . 07 . XXXX _

_ Dear Primrose, _

_ It brings me indescribable joy to hear of your new research, and of the name you appear to be making for yourself in Noblecourt. I hope you will allow me the privilege of reading over your findings before they are published. This is an area that has never before been properly researched—though I’m sure you know that—so you truly are paving the way for a whole new field of study!  _

_ And not to worry—I completely understand not wanting to leave Yusufa alone so soon after the resurrection; there’s no need to explain yourself. I wish I could make it to her production, but I’m afraid I’m a little tied up with work and other things at the moment. Wish her the best of luck from me!  _

_ I, too, have some exciting news to share… Olberic proposed! I planned to wait until the end of this letter to tell you, but I simply couldn’t contain myself! At the time of writing this, we are engaged to be wed as of two days ago. I feel as though I’m living in a dream. Gods, but that makes me sound like a romantic. You would understand why if you had been there. He took me to the roof of the library—we weren’t even allowed to be up there!—and surprised me with dinner. We talked and laughed and stargazed for hours. I was looking up at Ursa Major, but when I glanced back at him to point it out he was holding the ring box. He asked me if I would marry him and, demonstrably, I said yes. I suppose we both felt that it would be foolish to wait any longer, considering all that has happened in the past few years. You can never know with any certainty what might happen in the future, so it’s best to follow your heart in the present.  _

_ It’s still early days, but I can’t help but begin to think about the logistics of the wedding. Which brings me to my question for you: would you do me the honour of being my best woman, Primrose? I wouldn’t want to pull you away from your studies, of course, but the wedding wouldn’t be until next spring at least so there’ll be plenty of time to prepare. It would mean the world to me if you accepted. You and I have been through so much together, after all.  _

_ Nevertheless, I’m glad to hear from you and to know you’ve both settled in well to your new home. Or old home, as it were. If anyone deserves some peace and happiness after all they’ve survived, it’s you two. Please write back ASAP! I want to discuss wedding plans with you and the most efficient way to do so would be in person. Olberic and I could visit on the week of the 29th if you’d have us? I look forward to seeing you again, dear friend.  _

_ Yours sincerely, _

  
_ Cyrus _ ”

**Author's Note:**

> My Twitter: [@viciousmaukery](https://twitter.com/viciousmaukery)


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